


salt and the sea

by Aenqa



Series: the sword & the pen (dream smp) [3]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse Aftermath, Angst, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Found Family, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, descriptions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aenqa/pseuds/Aenqa
Summary: “Why did you even help me,” Tommy says flatly. “If you obviously hate me so much.”“You’re Phil’s kid," Techno says. "You’re Wilbur’s brother. I wasn’t just gonna let you freeze to death in the middle of a blizzard.”Tommy scoffs. “Oh, and that’s it, is it? You know you’re supposed to be those things too, right?”“Well, I’m not,” Techno snaps back, though the words drive something deep into his chest. “I’m not.”Tommy is living with Techno now, and everything is complicated.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: the sword & the pen (dream smp) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125335
Comments: 281
Kudos: 1637
Collections: sleepy bois inc





	1. collision

**Author's Note:**

> Previously titled "Nobody's Problem".
> 
> The purpose of this fic is essentially to explore and flesh out the relationship between Tommy and Techno after the exile arc of the Dream SMP. While some details are changed for the sake of the story, it basically attempts to stay true to canon and offer an interpretation of the characters as they exist and their relationship to each other. It also incorporates a few personal headcanons of mine that tie the backstory of the characters together. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Special thanks to Qupid and princedemeter for their help with this chapter <3

He chose the snowy plain as his home precisely because of its inaccessibility, but now Technoblade curses himself as he slants his shoulder against the biting wind that lashes over the unfiltered prairie. Gusts of snow tumble, collect momentum, and buffet against him, snowflakes freezing to his hair and eyelashes.

He tugs Carl on a lead behind him, the horse as steadfast as ever. They’re both moving slowly. They’ve both been through a lot today, already. A gash on Carl’s shoulder, from Quackity’s axe. A limp in Techno’s step.

Techno sees the impression of a building through the blinding snow and hopes his instincts guided him in the correct direction. He makes out the roof of the cabin, the stable at the side, and relief floods through him. _Thank god._

Techno guides Carl into his stable. He stumbles through the door to the lower level and slams it against the wind. The cabin isn’t warm, but at least it isn’t windy, and Techno takes a deep, shuddering breath before climbing slowly up the ladder, his fingers stiff and cold on the rungs. He can barely feel his feet.

The main floor looks like a tornado’s torn through it, cluttered with objects Techno had thrown to the floor in a discarded rush when the New L’Manburgians appeared at his door. Slowly, Techno leans over and starts to put the room back together. He pauses when he finds his notebook lying face-up on the ground. The to-do list reads like a relic: _Check in on the bees. Make sure the turtles are okay. Meet up with Phil._

Techno grits his teeth and sets the notebook down on the kitchen table. The list is an embarrassing reminder of just how blindsided he was by the day’s events, and he tears out the page, crumples it, throws it to the ground.

In the future, he might fight, might lose, might die, like he did today. But he’s not going to be caught by surprise like that again.

There’s a noise on the front porch and Techno flinches, grabbing automatically for his still-bloodied pickaxe. It’s like he moves on autopilot when he stalks for the door and throws it open.

Tommy stands in front of him, his hand frozen in reach for the handle.

Techno is surprised.

They stare at each other, silent and wide-eyed, for a long moment. Techno isn’t sure who’s more shocked by the other’s appearance. It’s probably Techno, though, because Tommy looks… _bad._

He doesn’t have time to consider that thought further before Tommy turns, races down the steps and bolts into the snowstorm.

“Tommy!” Techno shouts after him, watching him run over the plains, disappearing into the gray fog of snow. Tommy’s not even wearing a _coat,_ just that long-sleeve shirt he seems to like so much, and even that looks torn and frayed. Muttering a curse under his breath, Techno forges into the storm again, following slowly but surely as he watches Tommy stumble across the uneven ground. “Tommy, stop!”

Tommy doesn’t let up, even though Techno is gaining on him – even though he doesn’t have a chance in hell at making it anywhere in this weather. His head is bent against the wind, his arms wrapped around himself, and then Techno sees him fall to his knees in the snow, desperately digging through drifts of powder with his bare hands.

“Tommy,” Techno says, finally catching up to him. He catches Tommy’s arm. Tommy’s fingers are turning blue. “Stop.”

Tommy won’t meet his gaze and he doesn’t speak. His eyes are wild and unfocused, staring at whatever it is he’s trying to dig up. Techno turns his head and catches a glimpse of what looks like a trapdoor built into the ground, buried under the snow. It’s close to Techno’s cabin. It wasn’t there recently. _What the hell is going on?_

“What are you doin’ here, Tommy?”

And then – it’s like Tommy snaps. All at once he rips his arm away from Techno’s grasp and throws a punch with his other hand, a punch that Techno easily dodges – Tommy moves with frantic strength, but he’s as predictable and unpracticed as ever.

“Go away!” Tommy screams, lurching to his feet and stepping back. “L- leave me the _fuck_ alone, Techno.”

“If I do that, you’re gonna die out here, you idiot,” Techno says, raising his voice over the wind.

“What’s it matter to you?” Tommy snarls.

Nothing about this makes sense. Not Tommy being here, not the way he’s acting like a cornered wild animal, not the dark, blooming bruises that Techno can see, now, on his face and neck. It’s too much for Techno to process all at once, with wind and snow still stinging his face.

“Come inside the cabin,” he says.

Tommy hisses: “Why.”

“Because it’s fuckin’ cold and I’m not havin’ this conversation in the middle of a blizzard,” Techno shouts in exasperation.

“I do what I w- want,” Tommy says, taking another step back. He’s wobbling on his feet, his face white from cold. He speaks slowly, frozen lips fumbling over the words. “You – you can’t m- make me.” 

“Tommy,” Techno says, and Tommy collapses in the snow.

He’s disturbingly light in Techno’s arms as he carries him back to the cabin. His face is starved and gaunt, the bruises sickly dark on his pale skin. Techno pushes inside and places him in one of the two armchairs next to the fireplace, then kneels down to finally light it, sighing in relief as an orange flame flickers to life. As the fire starts to warm the cabin, Techno grabs one of Phil’s thick winter cloaks from a chest, draping it over Tommy, who stirs, his eyelids flickering.

“Wil...” Tommy mumbles.

Techno doesn’t respond. He goes to the kitchen and brings back a glass of water. Tommy is barely conscious, and he peers at Techno in confusion.

“Drink,” Techno says, holding out the cup.

Tommy practically shoves his arm away, nearly knocking the glass to the ground. “Stop helping me,” he says, glaring and leaning forward, tilting dangerously in his seat.

“Do you have a death wish, Tommy?” Techno asks flatly.

“Stop. Pretending. You care,” Tommy says hotly, and suddenly there are tears in his eyes. He brings up a heavy arm to punch his finger in Techno’s direction. “You’re not Wilbur, ‘n you’re _not_ my brother.”

Then his arm drops, his head lolls forward and he slumps over, and Techno catches him before he can fall face-first onto the ground.

* * *

There’s really no reason for Tommy to take this all so goddamn personally. But Techno really shouldn’t be surprised. If there’s one thing he’s learned about Tommy, it’s that he’s astonishingly good at taking things personally.

Techno lets him sleep by the fire for an hour until his pale, frostbitten skin slowly regains its color. Then he picks him up again and lugs him up the top floor – _why_ did Phil insist on using _ladders_ instead of stairs? – and puts him in Techno’s bed, the only one in the cabin. If Tommy is even aware of where he is or what’s happening, he’s too delirious to protest.

Stepping back and looking at Tommy, curled up under Phil’s cloak, Techno almost feels like he’s looking through Phil’s eyes a decade prior. Techno was sick a lot when Phil first took him in. He was about Tommy’s age, too – a little older, maybe. (How old is Tommy, again? Sixteen?) And just like Tommy now, Techno had fought Phil every step of the way.

Phil was kind to Techno back then. Even though he didn’t need to be. And as much as Techno has preferred to ignore it, Tommy is Phil’s kid. Techno doesn’t exactly believe in karma, but he does believe in reciprocation.

 _Goddammit._ He sighs and tilts his head towards the ceiling. _This is going to be really annoying._

* * *

It’s not until Techno collapses at the kitchen table that everything hits him all at once, like a train slamming into his chest. Techno folds his arms on the table and drops his head onto them, feeling the ache resonating in his limbs. Night’s fallen, though the dark winter clouds obscured the sunset. Techno can hear Carl neighing softly from his stable, the fire in the hearth crackling, filling the room with the faint smell of smoke.

He was executed today. The thought makes him laugh, a short, dry chuckle that dies in this throat. He was executed today. He remembers - the cage – the cuffs – the anvil. Phil, watching with horror from his new prison cell. And then – the escape. The meeting with Dream. The confrontation with Quackity. And now Tommy…

Techno has too many thoughts to process all at once, so he grabs the notebook still sitting on the table, turns to a new page, and starts to write.

_Phil is in_

His pen hovers over the page in a state of uncertainty. What word fits Phil’s current dilemma? ‘Trouble’? ‘Danger’? ‘L’Manburg’? Is there any difference?

 _Phil is in trouble,_ he decides. _He’s being held captive in L’Manburg._

 _The New L’Manburg is only getting worse. I tried to leave, tried to be peaceful, tried to extricate myself from their failed experiment. But that wasn’t enough for Tubbo and his cabinet._ His grip on the pen turns his knuckles white. He forces himself to relax. _If they won’t listen to reason, and if they won’t leave me alone… I have no choice but to retaliate._ He presses his pen into the period until the ink starts to bleed through the page. 

What else? _I found Tommy in my house,_ he writes, as the wind outside slides from a roar to a whistle, the snow starting to fall in flurries rather than blankets. _He looked terrible, like he was starving. Like someone beat him half to death during his exile._ He resists the urge to chew on the back of his pen, an old, bad habit. _I don’t know if I should feel guilty about that._

There’s a sound like the hollow echo of a cave, and suddenly, the front door pushes open. It startles Techno, and he slams his notebook shut. Someone’s coming through the door - well, _floating_ is a better word for it.

“Hello,” says Wilbur’s ghost, tilting his head to one side. He’s holding a snow-covered coat over his head. Without prompting, the door swings shut behind him.

Techno sighs a breath of relief and looks away. He unsettles him, the ghost, with his wide, blank eyes and half-transparent form. But at least he’s not here to fight.

“How are you doing today, Technoblade?” the ghost says, his voice lilting strangely.

Techno snorts. “You were at the execution,” he says, keeping his volume low. “What do you think?”

“Was I?” he says, frowning. He floats closer to Techno, who tries to ignore the resultant clammy chill in the air. “I don’t remember.”

“It’s not important.”

“What are you writing?” the ghost asks next, looking at Techno’s notebook. It’s not like it matters, so Techno opens it up again. The ghost’s eyes widen as he reads the first line. “Dad’s in trouble? But I just saw him. He’s alright.”

“Phil is fine for now,” Techno says, “but they’re holding him captive in L’Manburg.”

“No, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are, W-,” he stops. “They are.”

“But I just saw him outside, Techno.”

Techno looks at the ghost sharply. “Phil was here?”

“Yes,” the ghost says happily, floating a little higher. “I came with him. I had to use the coat, because I don’t like the snow. He told me to be quiet, for some reason, and then he watched the cabin for a little bit longer, and then he told me to stay here and then he left. And then I came here!”

Techno rubs his face with both hands, exhaling heavily. “Okay.” He turns the page and starts a new list, this one action-oriented. _Figure out what’s going on with Phil._ Above it – a prerequisite: _Get new stuff._ And then, stuffed in between the two: _Find someone who can help._

“Is Tommy here?” Wilbur’s ghost is asking, pulling him from his thoughts.

“He is.” Techno scrubs a hand through his hair. “Do you know what happened to him? In exile?”

“Do you mean on vacation? I think he is okay. I think,” the ghost stumbles, staring off into space for a moment. “I think I got a little confused.”

Techno doesn’t even know why he tried.

“But this is good!” the ghost continues, pushing past the moment. “I can stay, and it’ll be the three of us – together again.”

Techno crosses his arms and stares at the ghost. “Together again,” he repeats slowly, almost to himself. “Did that ever really happen?”

“Of course it did,” the ghost says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I remember so many times the three of us were together. Alivebur was always so happy.”

Techno winces and stands suddenly, his chair scraping against the floor. “Sorry… Ghostbur,” he says (he hates that name) “but I don’t think you can stay. I – I need you to do somethin’ for me.”

“Oh,” the ghost says in a small voice, as Techno rips out another page of his notebook and scribbles something down. “What is it?” 

“I need you to take this to Phil,” Techno says, folding the paper and handing it to the ghost. Where their hands brush, Techno feels a crackle of static electricity that makes the hairs on the back of his hand stand up, and he pulls back. “Can you do that?”

Ghostbur looks down at the paper and frowns. “I don’t like the snow, though.”

“I think it’s stopping,” Techno says honestly, looking out the window. The storm has settled down, with only a few spare flakes swirling through the air. “You probably don’t even need your coat.”

“Okay then, Techno. I’ll do this for you,” Ghostbur says with a little smile, which Techno does his best to reciprocate. Giving a little salute, he floats through the wall, and the corporeal letter smacks against the wood, falling to the floor. 

The ghost floats back in, looking embarrassed. “Sorry.” He picks up the letter again, and leaves through the front door this time.

As soon as he’s gone, Techno returns to his notebook. At the bottom of his to-do list, he writes one final, all-important entry. He writes it with the image of Tubbo’s anvil falling like a thunderbolt, the taste of metal and salt in his mouth, the memory of Carl bucking in fear as Quackity held an axe to his side.

He writes, _Burn L’Manburg to the ground._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments always appreciated <3


	2. communication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno and Tommy have coffee. A visitor stops by to say hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, changing the title of this fic because I found a song that fits it better? it's more likely than you think.

Techno sleeps in restless bursts, awkwardly curled in his armchair. He tends to dream in brief, violent images, and tonight, it’s like the greatest hits are on replay: a familiar man with his hands around Techno’s throat; walls and hands drenched in blood; a younger Wilbur with a broken arm; Phil holding a bloody sword. Now, a new addition to the collection: the edge of an anvil driving itself through his chest. 

The last image sends him bolting awake in a burst of adrenaline, clutching blindly for a totem that no longer exists. 

A glass of water. A deep breath. He stands alone in the kitchen. The storm is gone; the night is deep and deathly silent. 

He hears, above him, a creak. The walls are thin, and nightmares seem to be plaguing Tommy as well. 

_“Dream,”_ Techno hears. It’s a hoarse, broken whisper. _“Please, stop,_ _please_ \--,” 

Is Tommy dreaming of the war? And if so, which one? Techno takes another sip of water, his brow furrowing. He’s never heard Tommy like he sounds right now. Even during the war for independence, Wilbur had told him, Tommy was bombastic and arrogant to the point of madness. In his sleep, Tommy sounds terrified - helpless.

 _“I’m sorry,”_ Tommy says, and something twists in Techno’s chest. 

With no desire to return to the dreams waiting in ambush in his sleep, Techno finds himself grabbing his cloak, fastening it around his neck as he slips quietly through the front door. The world is muffled by the blankets of freshly-fallen snow. Techno tracks half-filled in footsteps across the prairie, following the faint trail left by him and Tommy a few hours prior. 

He finds the half-buried trapdoor and shovels snow away from the handle. It opens to a tunnel and a ladder, which Techno climbs down. The passageway he finds at the bottom is hastily dug, dark and musty, and for a moment, he wonders if this is where Tommy has been living - but as he follows the path of the tunnel, he realizes it’s leading back to his cabin. 

Techno emerges in a small hole dug into the earth. He recognizes the ceiling as the floor of his basement, and in confirmation, he hears his cow moo softly above. There’s hardly anything down here - a lone, flickering lantern, nearly burnt out; a thin blanket laid out on the dirt; a collection of items in a sad little chest: worn-down tools, chipped armor, and some meager food rations. Techno digs a little deeper and finds, with surprise, a handful of potions - some golden apples. They’re out of place, and Techno suddenly recognizes these rarer items as his own. Tommy must have stolen them. 

Techno shivers in the chill. The warmth from the fireplace doesn’t reach down here. How long has Tommy been living here? He supposes he should feel alarmed, or maybe violated, that Tommy has been living underneath him, stealing from him. But the thought of Tommy crouched down here in the cold, listening to Techno’s footsteps above him, snatching food where he can, mostly just makes him feel… confused.

Why did Tommy come here? He was alone in exile, but there, he had shelter and warmth. Techno remembers the makeshift base Wilbur’s ghost helped him construct. He also remembers Tommy’s angry snarl when Techno came to visit. Techno been quickly informed, first, that he was a _pussy -_ second, that he should fuck off _,_ and finally, that Tommy never wanted to see him again. What could have pushed Tommy to come _here_? 

Techno thinks of the dark bruises on Tommy’s face. He’s seen enough of them to know they were left by fists. Fingerprints, on his neck. 

That twist in Techno’s chest again. What is it? Is it anger? Is it guilt? Does he have any right - or reason - to feel either? 

By the time he makes his way upstairs, the first rays of light are bleeding over the eastern horizon. Techno puts a pan of water on the stove for coffee. He wonders if Tommy drinks coffee, and adds some extra water, just in case. He doesn’t know anything about Tommy, hardly, and wishes Wilbur were here. Not the shell of a ghost that’s been left behind, but the real Wilbur. He practically raised Tommy - he’d know what to do. He’d know how to handle this. 

The thought provokes a louder, harsher thought: _Wilbur's dead. Phil killed him._

Techno winces and stares hard into the boiling water. Think of something else. He thinks about how the hell he's going to talk to Tommy about what comes next. He thinks about what the hell comes next. When the coffee's done, he pours himself a cup, sits at the table, and adds up all of these questions into a single item on the mental to-do list. _Figure out what to do with Tommy._

He hears him wake up before he sees him: his hesitant footsteps, walking across the floor, pausing at the ladder. The creak of the ladder. 

Tommy steps down, turns, and they stare at each other. Silence. Techno clears his throat. Tommy crosses his arms, his face defensive and dark. Suddenly, his eyes catch on something, and his eyebrows lift. 

“Is Wilbur here?” he asks. 

“What?” Techno says, startled, then tracks his gaze. The coat the ghost brought is still resting on the kitchen chair. It looks familiar - maybe Wilbur used to wear it. “Oh. He - he was. He went back to L’Manburg.” 

Tommy nods shortly, still focused on the coat. He reaches out, as if to grab it, then stops himself, his arm falling to his side. 

Techno sighs and jerks his head towards the stove. “D’you want coffee?” 

Tommy’s eyes flicker towards the stove, then towards Techno. Techno takes an exaggerated drink out of his own mug as though to prove it’s not poisoned, and Tommy rolls his eyes before going for the pan. Techno shifts in his chair and watches him ladle himself a cup, take a sip, hide a grimace. Tommy’s hair hangs long and shaggy around his ears. His eyes flicker around the cabin, like he’s looking for the nearest exit.

“Can we talk now,” Techno says, “or are you gonna run away like a scared rabbit again?” 

Tommy leans back against the counter. “What would you like to talk about?” he asks, sarcastically sweet. 

“Maybe we could start with why you’re hidin’ under my house like a damn raccoon?”

Tommy’s shoulders tense. “Well, I’m _not_ leaving,” he says, as though that’s any kind of answer. 

Techno, incredulous: “It’s _my_ house, Tommy.” 

“Not that room, I made it, it’s _mine,_ it’s my things, and you can’t just take them away from me, it isn’t _right!”_ Tommy practically shouts, and Techno stops. 

He’s clearly struck a chord. Tommy is clinging onto the coffee cup in his hands like it’s a lifeline, like it’s made of gold. His jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed. Techno decides not to bring up that half of Tommy’s things were stolen from Techno. It doesn’t matter that much to him, and it clearly matters a lot to Tommy.

Tommy seems to notice Techno staring at him and scoffs, looking out the window. 

“Let’s try again,” Techno says. “ _Why_ are you here? I thought you were in exile - in Logsted, or whatever you were callin’ it.” 

Tommy shakes his head, a quick jerking motion. “Not anymore.”

“What happened, Tommy?” 

Tommy looks at him, and for a second there’s a flash of something vulnerable and afraid on his face. “I can’t stay there anymore,” he says.

Techno rubs his face with one hand. Getting information out of Tommy is like pulling out a very obstinate splinter. “You know,” he says, sighing, “I seem to remember you havin’ some choice words for me the last time we saw each other. Mainly that you, oh, what was it -- _hated my fucking guts?”_

“What is it you want me to say, Techno?” Tommy snaps, standing up straighter. “You want me to say I didn’t have anywhere else to go? Is that it? That I can’t go back to L’Manburg? That I can’t go anywhere else? I know you don’t give two shits about me but it was either come here or freeze to death, okay? So I’m _sorry._ ” 

“Tommy,” Techno says sharply, standing up, “ _listen_ to me -,” 

And Tommy suddenly flinches back, his body going rigid, like he’s anticipating a hit. 

Techno stops. He takes a small step back, putting space between them. He holds his hands up carefully. 

“What do you want?” Tommy says in a rush. His voice wavers, though he’s masking it with false bravado. “You want your stuff back? You want me to leave? Just tell me.” 

“I don’t want you to do any of that, Tommy,” Techno says wearily. Tommy looks at him strangely as he continues: “I’d just like to know what the heck is goin’ on. As a matter of principle.” 

Tommy looks down at his coffee, steam still curling from the cup. Then he takes a deep breath. 

“I was in exile,” is how he finally starts. “I was alone, and nobody fuckin’ came to visit me. Nobody cared, except --” He stops suddenly. Grits his teeth. “ _Nobody_ cared,” he says with emphasis. “Not Tubbo, not anyone in L’Manburg or the SMP. So basically I’ve decided I don’t care about them, either.” He looks up at Techno with fire in his eyes. “All I care about is getting back my discs. That’s all I want to do. So, I - I needed to go somewhere else, somewhere where they couldn’t find me. This was the only place I could think of.” A shoulder shrug - a downward glance. “That’s about it.” 

Okay. It’s clearly not the whole story, but it’s something. It’s something Techno can work with. It’s something that starts to turn over in his head, giving him an idea. _Maybe he can help._

“Tommy,” he says, “I think you’ve come to the right place.”

Tommy furrows his brow as he looks up.

“I’ve… also… had a falling out with the L’Manburgians,” Techno says, folding his arms. “Well. By _falling out,_ I mean they hunted me down and tried to execute me.” 

Tommy’s eyes widen. “Tubbo did that?” 

“It’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, Tommy. That government is _corrupt,_ rotten to the core.” _Every government is,_ he thinks but doesn’t say - no need to get into the theory with Tommy when the practical application is so clear. “It doesn’t matter who’s in charge - all they’re ever gonna do is hurt the people they’re supposed to be protectin’. Includin’ you.” 

“Tubbo is not the problem,” Tommy says, shaking his head. 

“Tubbo exiled you.” 

“It wasn’t his fault, it - it was _Dream’s,”_ Tommy says with heat. 

“Tubbo had a choice, and he made it,” Techno says. “He chose to exile you. He chose not to leave me alone out here, to try and kill me instead. He chose -,” 

“Stop,” Tommy says, setting his cup down with a clatter on the counter. “I don’t want to hear this.” 

Techno suppresses another exasperated sigh. “You’ve gotta understand, Tommy. You think I’m your enemy, but what have I ever done to hurt you? Compared to -,” 

“Turned on me,” Tommy says, counting them out on his fingers, “blew up my home, killed my best friend.”

“Eh-,” Fair enough.

“Gave me a stupid speech about how I’m dumb and bad for wanting power, when - when I didn’t! I didn’t, Techno! I gave the presidency up, you - you stupid son of a -,” 

“The speech was meant to be a warnin’,” Techno says, cutting him off. “A warnin’ you apparently needed.” 

Tommy splutters. “What about that speech was a warning? You just babbled on about some Greek bastard who killed a centaur, or whatever -,” 

_“Theseus,_ and he slayed the _Minotaur,_ not the -,” 

“How am I supposed to understand you when you speak in fuckin’ riddles, then? You --,” 

“Just because you’re uneducated doesn’t mean I’m gonna scale back my references, Tommy. Read a book sometime and maybe we can have a civilized discussion.” 

Tommy groans in frustration, and Techno fights to relax the fists he’s unconsciously clenched. When did they start arguing? It’s so _easy_ when Tommy gets like this, so stubborn and snippy and -

“Why did you even help me,” Tommy says flatly. “If you obviously hate me so much.” 

Techno feels something defensive rising up in his chest. “I never said I hated you,” he says. “Besides. You’re Phil’s kid. You’re Wilbur’s brother. I wasn’t just gonna let you freeze to death in the middle of a blizzard.”

Tommy scoffs. “Oh, and that’s it, is it? You know you’re supposed to be those things too, right?”

“Well, I’m not,” Techno snaps back, though the words drive something deep into his chest. “I’m not.” 

It hangs in the air, colder than the winter chill, as the two of them stare each other down, each waiting for the other to blink. 

A knock on the door. 

They both startle. Techno turns his head slowly towards the sound. 

“Who is it?” Tommy asks in a nervous whisper. 

“Maybe the ghost?” Techno says, equally quiet. 

“Wilbur doesn’t knock.” 

If it’s the L’Manburgians again, they’re in for a hell of a fight. Techno reaches for his pickaxe and treads lightly towards the window at the front of the house. He inches the curtain open and peeks at the figure standing on the porch. He catches a glimpse of a shoulder - a dark green jacket. An axe strapped to a back.

“It’s Dream,” he says, more curious than anything. 

And he feels the energy shift in the room, as surely as a stormfront. Like a drop in air pressure. He turns, and Tommy has gone as pale as he was when he was frostbitten. He’s holding himself rigid, his eyes wide and hunted. He looks like he wants to bolt, but can’t.

His reaction is the last piece of a puzzle Techno didn’t realize he was putting together. Tommy’s whispered nightmare, the bruises on his face, _nobody cared, except -_

 _Dream,_ Techno realizes, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Tommy knocks his coffee cup to the ground, and it shatters.

Techno curses and swiftly moves towards him. Tommy clutches for his arm, and he’s whispering, “please, Techno, I - I know you hate me but _please_ don’t tell him I’m here! I’m sorry, I’ll give everything back, I’ll leave you alone, I just -,” 

“Get in the basement, Tommy,” Techno hisses, and pushes Tommy towards the ladder. But Tommy isn’t moving, and he won’t move any closer to the door - he’s frozen, a deer in headlights, useless, as he says, “Techno - I - I -,”

With an exasperated sound, Techno looks for another solution - spots his pantry, large and mostly empty. Unceremoniously, he shoves Tommy inside - he has to crouch a bit to fit, but it’s workable. He looks out at Techno in shock.

“Stay _quiet,”_ Techno says, and closes him in.

Another knock on the door, loud and insistent.

“Techno?” comes Dream’s voice. “You in there?”

“Sorry, just a second,” Techno calls back, his mind scrambling to think of any clues of Tommy’s existence. He doesn’t have time to keep stalling, so he just hopes for the best and goes for the door. 

Dream is as unsettling as ever, with his stupid smiley-face mask and odd, detached body language. He barely moves when Techno opens the door. “Can I come in?” 

“To what do I owe the honor?” Techno says, deflecting. 

“I just wanted to come say hi. Make sure you were okay after yesterday.” Dream’s head tilts, like he’s looking inside. Techno wishes, for about the one-thousandth time, that he could see Dream’s eyes. “It’s cold out here. Can I come inside?” 

And there’s no reason for Techno to say no, so he stands aside, lets Dream pass through the door. “Y’know, it wouldn’t be so cold if you wore a real coat,” he says, forcing his voice casual. “I know the hunting jacket is kind of your _aesthetic,_ but.” 

Dream laughs. It sounds canned, like a laugh track on a sitcom. “Maybe.” He paces inside, stopping in the kitchen and gesturing towards the shattered ceramic mug on the ground. “Dropped your cup?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Techno says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still not quite awake, y’know.” 

Without answering, Dream turns his head slowly towards the second cup of coffee that’s still sitting half-full on the table. Techno swallows. 

“I’m glad you got back safe,” Dream says. “And Carl.”

“Yes,” Techno says. “Thank you, again. For that.”

Dream hums. “I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

Techno snorts, a sarcastic smile twisting his mouth. “Are you?” 

“Well,” Dream says with amusement. “At least, I’m sure you _will._ Someday.” 

The smile drops from Techno’s face. The implication in his words is clear. Techno owes him a favor. 

But Dream is moving past it already, like it’s nothing. Like his ability to call in a favor from Techno isn’t something that could shift the earth underneath them both. “I actually came for another reason.”

“Oh?”

“Tommy,” Dream says, “is missing from Logsted.”

“ _Really_.”

“Really.”

Techno tries, very hard, to not look at the pantry standing only a few feet behind Dream - the pantry that seems, to him, to clamor for attention. “That’s… concerning.”

“I _know,_ ” Dream says, and it sounds like he’s trying to emulate concern - a bad photocopy of an original. “I’m worried about him. Tommy hasn’t been himself, recently. I was trying to help him, when I could, but he wasn’t exactly making it _easy_ on me. I mean - you know Tommy.” 

“Not really,” Techno says, shifting.

Dream waves his hand. “You know him _enough._ So - you haven’t seen him?”

And -

It’s true, you know. He saved Techno’s life. Techno owes him a favor. 

But the instant that thought crosses his mind, the image of Tommy, terrified and clearly _traumatized,_ injured, beaten to shit, occurs just as quickly - and Dream’s audacity, to say he was _helping_ him - 

“Nope,” he says easily. “Haven’t seen him.” 

He can feel Dream’s gaze burning into him. “Really.”

“Why would he come here? Kid fuckin’ hates me,” Techno says. 

Dream hums. “I guess.” 

“But, I tell you what,” reaching out and daring to grab Dream by the shoulder, pulling him towards the door. “If I catch wind of where he’s hidin’, I’ll let you know. I’d hate for the kid to get hurt.” 

“Exactly,” Dream says, letting Techno guide him out. 

“Exactly. Well, thanks for the visit, Dream, can’t say I’m hopin’ it’ll happen again, but I guess you know where I live now, so I’m assumin’ it will, which is just great. See ya then.” 

Techno tries to close the door, and Dream sticks his foot out, catching it. He leans in close to Techno, who stills. 

“I’m going to call in that favor, Technoblade,” he says, his voice a friendly kind of dangerous. He reaches out and plucks a loose thread off of the shoulder of Techno’s shirt; Techno tenses at the touch. “You’re like… my little genie _._ And when I want my wish, I’m going to get it. Understand?” 

Techno’s pride smarts and snarls to life in his chest. But Tommy is crouched in a pantry not a dozen feet away. And Dream is a dangerous enemy to provoke. 

“Understood,” he grits, and Dream dips his head before wasting an Ender Pearl to make a dramatic exit. Techno shakes his head to the winter sky. “Such an asshole,” he whispers _._

Techno waits a few beats longer before closing the door. He walks back into the kitchen and opens the pantry. 

Tommy is staring at him. Despite being hunched over, he seems to have pulled himself together a bit, the color returning to his face, defiance in his eyes. “Dream’s gone?” he whispers.

Techno nods, steps aside and beckons him out. 

Tommy clambers out, brushes himself off. Looks at Techno awkwardly. Doesn’t speak. 

“You’re welcome,” Techno says, then goes to pick up the shards of the shattered mug on the floor. 

Tommy scoffs behind him, but after a moment, he’s crouching next to Techno, helping him. Silently, they finish cleaning the mess, mopping up the spilled drink. Techno dumps out the unwanted coffee. Tommy stands back, his arms crossed. 

“Thank you,” he finally says, as Techno places the empty pot back on the stove. Techno looks towards him. Tommy still looks unsure, but he’s no longer angry. Techno, maybe, has earned a modicum of trust. “Thank you for not telling him.” 

Techno nods, and turns to face him. “Listen, Tommy,” he says. He will get through this even if it _kills him._ Or kills Tommy - whichever comes first. “We don’t have to be friends. I don’t think we _can_ be friends. There’s too much history here. I get that. _But_.” He takes a deep breath, hardly able to believe what he’s about to propose. “I think we should work together.”

Tommy speaks hesitantly. “How so?” 

“You say you want your discs? Okay. I’ll help you get your discs.” 

Tommy’s eyes widen. “Really?”

“Really. And you can stay here, if you want, while you try to get them back.”

“Well, then - what do you want in return?” 

“In return,” Techno says, and pauses. The end of his to-do list; the violence his darker side demands. _Burn L’Manburg, burn it, raze it to the ground._ Tommy will never agree to that. Even though Techno's right, he'll never agree to it. Maybe Techno can make him see the truth in the future. But for now: “You help me rescue Phil. The government is holding him hostage, and I want to get him out.” 

“Oh,” Tommy says. “I - I don’t want to go against Tubbo.”

“Tommy, come on. This is _Phil_ we’re talkin’ about _.”_

And Tommy takes a deep breath, nods forcefully. “No, you’re right. It - it’s just some minor rebellion. Tubbo won’t be too angry. Right?” 

_I'm going to burn everything. I'm going to burn it all._ “Right,” Techno says aloud. 

“So I help you rescue Phil - nothing more - and in return, you help me get my discs.” Tommy hits his palm with a fist, his eyes bright. “I’ll take that deal.” And then he’s extending a hand, his eyes bright and focused. “Shake on it.” 

Techno doesn’t know if he’s doing the right thing. He doesn’t know if he’s making a mistake. All he knows - is that Tommy needs help. And _Techno_ needs help. And maybe, just maybe, they can make this work. This can be mutually beneficial. 

It’s a business partnership. Nothing more. Nothing deeper. He can do that. 

He shakes Tommy’s hand, and he wonders if he’s fooling himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for your lovely comments on the first chapter, they were so appreciated <3 I'm hoping to update this frequently since this arc will only be plot-relevant for so much longer, so... hopefully see you soon!


	3. clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno's past helps clarify his present, but it doesn't make it any easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> backstory time! long chapter incoming!
> 
> hope you enjoy :)

Although it was, admittedly, a bit boring, there were some things Techno had enjoyed about retirement. He valued the quiet that was inherent to the frozen plain, the gentle reflection that made itself available in solitude and silence. He appreciated the ability to muffle his thoughts in the snow and to focus intently on the simple tasks he had to do. He’d enjoyed the ability to choose exactly what he wanted to do with his time, unconstrained by anyone else’s expectations or desires. There were perks to being separated from society. 

Tommy takes a sledgehammer to each and every one of them.

He’s loud. He’s obnoxious. He fills up every second of silence as though having to live in his own head is a death sentence. Despite claiming to hate Techno’s guts, he still follows him like a shadow, practically tripping over Techno’s heels.

One day into their stay together and Techno already needs some space. He sets Tommy to resource-gathering ( _child labor,_ Tommy complains bitterly) while he spends the evening modifying Tommy’s underground bunker, turning it into a comfortable little room with wooden walls and carpets on the floors. He finds a clever way to reroute the heat from the furnace so that the heat reaches Tommy’s room. He puts shelves on the walls and a nook in the corner where Tommy can keep his important things, and fashions a stone to pull over the entrance so that Tommy will be hidden if Dream decides to visit again. When he steps back, he feels a sense of pride at his work. 

Tommy takes one look at it, glowers at him, and says, “did you mess with my stuff?” 

“What?” Techno says. “No. I just moved it so I could -,” 

“Don’t touch my shit,” Tommy says, and then he puts a sign up on the wall that says: _No pussies allowed._ “That means you, Technoblade.” 

Techno is almost too astonished to be annoyed. _Almost._ “Do you realize you’re the biggest idiot on the planet?” 

“Do you realize you’re the biggest bitch in this room?” Tommy snipes, then cackles with laughter before taking a bite out of a golden apple, just to piss Techno off.

He’s like a toddler. A toddler with the vocabulary of a sailor and the self-awareness of a rock. He’s like an ungrateful little squirrel chewing through Techno’s supplies, he’s like - he’s like a creepy little British troll hiding under his house who keeps lighting small fires in their _wooden cabin_ because he doesn’t know how to use a _goddamn_ _stove_. 

By the time Tommy finally, _finally_ falls asleep that night, Techno is more exhausted than he was on the day he was executed. He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, and reminds himself that he needs help - he needs someone on his side if he wants to rescue Phil and take down L’Manburg, even if Tommy is currently oblivious to that second goal. They need to get along. And Techno wonders: _how the hell did Phil do this?_

Well - it wasn’t like this with Phil, was it? 

_...was it?_

It’s been a while since Techno has thought about what it was like when he first came to live with Philza. He barely wanted to think about it while it was happening, let alone ruminate on it after the fact. But now, staring up at his ceiling, dreading sleep even though his body aches for it, Techno lets his mind wander back to those years when he had been Tommy’s age, half as irritating but twice as destructive.

Techno met Phil at a tournament, when he was 15 and Phil was 30. Not that Phil knew that at the time. Techno was far younger than most of the people who participated in tournaments - older, grizzled competitors who were fine with the scars that came in pursuit of glory and gold. If they knew they were being beaten by a teenager, Techno would have been targeted even more than he already was for being a ruthless, single-minded winner. Techno became good at hiding his age.

He and Phil were paired together at random and found that they worked exceptionally well together. At every tournament after that, they sought each other out - often to team, but at least to say hello. Phil could give Techno a hard time, but he was never malicious. He was funny, competitive, matched Techno’s enthusiasm beat for beat. And he seemed to see something in Techno that nobody else did. He saw a real person beyond Techno’s persona as a bloodthirsty force of nature.

It was after they had handily won another tournament together that Phil confronted him. They were sitting in the locker room together, packing up their things, the last ones to remain after they had spent some time talking and laughing about their victory. Techno was slowly unwrapping his hands, trying to make every second last as long as possible before he had to return. 

“Techno,” Phil had said, then sighed. 

“Phil,” Techno responded dryly. “What can I help you with?”

Phil turned and looked Techno in the eye, and he was suddenly much different than the rambunctious, competitive person Techno had grown slowly familiar with. He seemed older, more responsible. 

“How old are you?” he asked. 

It took Techno by surprise. “Uh… does it matter?”

“Someone told me,” he paused, “someone said you might be _fifteen._ Please tell me you’re not _fifteen years old,_ Techno.” 

“I say again,” Techno said, pulling the bandages off of his hands quicker - “does it _matter_?” 

Of course it mattered, and Techno knew why. Tournaments were basically gladiator battles. Teenagers had no business putting their lives at risk for prize money that ultimately amounted to pocket change. But, to be honest, Techno had given up caring a while ago, when he realized that nobody else cared, either. 

Except, apparently, Phil. Whose gaze Techno felt burning into the side of his head. 

“Where’d you get those bruises, Techno?” Phil asked quietly, and Techno’s heart dropped. Suddenly, the slowly yellowing bruises on his arms seemed as obvious as a neon sign hung around his neck.

“The tournament,” he lied, “obviously.” It should have been believable, but Phil - as Techno was learning - was smarter than most people. 

“Those are old bruises,” Phil said. “And you didn’t get hit during the tournament, like, at all. Those aren’t from today.” 

Techno stood up quickly. “It’s not important, Phil,” he said, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll, uh, see you next time - if you decide to stop bein’ weird -,” 

But before he could leave, Phil stood as well, holding out a hand to stop him. He didn’t get angry or put his hand on him. He just said, “Techno. You’re my mate. If you need a place to go, my house is always open. Really, I - I have lots of empty guest rooms,” with a little laugh. 

It scared Techno. He didn’t want this from Phil, didn’t need it. Didn’t want Phil to _think_ that he needed it. 

_(Oh, Techno thinks. Oh.)_

“I can take care of myself, Phil,” he snapped, before rushing from the room. 

Phil didn’t bring it up again, but after that, Techno could practically feel him picking up on the details. The bruises and scars on Techno’s skin that couldn’t be explained by tournaments. The man who was always there to collect Techno’s earnings for him - - 

\- ah - no, Techno thinks. No. No need to think about him.

And then. Months later, when Techno had been thrown out. He was sixteen and trying to live on his own with no money and no friends, and he was failing. He showed up to a tournament, clearly looking like shit, and Phil had come up to him right away, concern clouding his face and sending Techno’s stomach roiling. _You can't even do this right,_ he told himself. _The only thing you're good at and you're fucking this up, too. Everyone can tell, everyone knows --_

“What’s going on, Techno?” Phil asked quietly, and Techno just snapped, “I have to win today, alright? If you can’t keep up, stay out of my way,” before pushing past him and heading for the entrance.

They had won, silently and with mutual understanding. Technoblade was scary when he was competitive, but terrifying when he was desperate. Nobody else even tried. 

But he realized, as he went to pick up the money that would keep him alive for the next few months, that someone was already there, picking it up in his name. Someone with a fresh scar running across his jaw. Someone with a leer on his face, stalking up as Techno shrunk back, frozen in place. Someone who was saying, “you thought you could pull a fuckin’ fast one on me? Useless little --,” 

And then he was stumbling back with a cry, blood bursting from his nose, and Phil was standing in front of Techno, rubbing his fist, a look of cold fury on his face. 

“Piece of shit,” Phil muttered, then reeled back to punch him again, sending him to the floor. Techno just watched on, his eyes wide, as Phil wrenched Techno’s earnings from the man’s hand, turning to Techno and jerking his head. “Come on, mate.” 

Even after that, Techno hadn’t known what to say to Phil, or how to trust him. Techno thinks about the silent journey back to Phil’s house as Techno waited for him to change his mind, to kick him out on his own again. The confusion, and concern, when he hadn’t - for weeks, and then months. The way he had locked himself away in his room, unable to believe he was safe with Phil even though all evidence pointed to the contrary. The way he had preemptively lashed out at Phil, to make the inevitable betrayal hurt less.

Techno can see the writing on the wall. He rubs his face and sighs to the ceiling. He has to be patient.

* * *

Patience is not a virtue, Techno thinks; saying so would imply that patience could be inborn or inherited. Patience is a skill - a practice that Techno has mastered. 

Case in point: in the back of his cabin, dug carefully into the snowy landscape, there is a small, growing potato garden, the light green shoots poking up valiantly from the cold earth. It took Techno a long time to coax those potato seeds to life, and the next morning, he’s crouched in front of them, proudly surveying their progress. 

Footsteps crunch through the snow behind him. He doesn’t turn around.

“Potatoes again?” Tommy says. “Get a new hobby, bitch.” 

“Not until you get a new block,” Techno fires back, because Tommy has insisted on spending the morning starting another cobblestone monstrosity in the front yard that Techno will have to spend the afternoon tearing down, if they want to make any attempt at all at keeping his presence there a secret. 

“The difference, okay,” says Tommy, his weight creaking against the fence as he vaults on top of it, “the _difference_ is that I come up with new and exciting ways to use cobblestone every time, and you just make the same old stupid potato farm everywhere you go.” 

“It’s not a farm,” Techno corrects him. “It’s a garden.” 

“What’s the difference?” 

“The difference is that I had to promise Phil it would _stay_ a garden,” Techno says with a wry grin, continuing to check each sprout. 

He gets a few blessed seconds of silence, and then: “This is boring, Technoblade,” Tommy whines, shifting on the fence. 

“Nobody asked you to be here, y’know,” Techno says pointedly, but then regrets it when he hears Tommy go still. 

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks. 

Techno stifles a sigh and thinks about patience. He turns to look at Tommy, and - oh.

Tommy is wearing Wilbur’s coat. Techno recognizes it firmly, now, the dark brown material - the patches on the elbows and shoulders. Tommy’s hair is light, but it’s curly when it gets this long, and - 

And he looks so much like Wilbur that another memory comes, strong and clear, to Techno’s mind: Wilbur, a few days after he first arrived at Phil’s house, which was about a year after Techno had moved in. Wide-eyed and nervous. Firm in his stance, though his voice wavered.

“Do you want me to leave, or something?” he had asked Techno then, and Techno had rolled his eyes. They were standing in Phil’s enormous living room, the sound of running water spilling out from the kitchen as Phil did the dishes from dinner.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” said Techno. 

“You keep treating me like I don’t exist,” Wilbur said, crossing his arms. “Like you wish I wasn’t here.” 

Techno tried not to glare at him, though Wilbur’s approach was putting him on the defensive. Phil hadn’t lied about having a lot of extra guest rooms - he lived in an enormous rural sort of mansion - and that had apparently encouraged him to take in another needy youth, which had come as an enormous surprise to Techno. Wilbur was a few years younger than him, and different. _Very_ different. 

“It’s nothing personal,” Techno eventually said. “I just don’t know you.” 

“Well, I was talking to Dad,” Wilbur said, “and he said -,”

_“Dad?”_

“Phil said it was okay if I called him Dad,” Wilbur said, brightening. 

And it was so disquieting - it almost made Techno feel sick - the way Wilbur seemed to accept that so easily. Like it was nothing - like it _meant_ nothing. Like it wasn’t dangerous, to trust someone like that so quickly. So different from how, a year ago, Techno had told Phil: “I’m not lookin’ for another family. I don’t need you to be my dad, and I don’t want you to be.” And Phil had responded, with a relieved grin: “Fine by me. I wouldn’t know _how.”_

Apparently, Phil had changed his mind.

“So,” Wilbur was moving right along, while Techno’s head spun: “So Dad said that we should just do some bonding stuff, you know, to get to know each other a little better. What d’you think? I think it could be a right good time, if we figured out something we both like to do. I’m a big music person, if that’s something you -”

“No thanks,” Techno said, shouldering his way past him and towards his room. 

But Wilbur didn’t give up: “Y’know, Techno, we should at least try to get to know each other if we’re gonna be brothers -”

“We’re not,” Techno snapped, and Wilbur recoiled, which made Techno shrink back as well, his sense of danger flaring. “It’s not like that with me and Phil,” he said. “It’s just not.” 

“Isn’t he your guardian, too?” Wilbur asked meekly. 

“Technically, yes, but -” 

“So -”

“Just shut up, Wilbur, leave it alone!” 

Wilbur took a step back, wide-eyed, and then Phil was at his side, looking at Techno with an expression of disappointment that opened up a pit in Techno’s stomach. 

“Techno,” Phil said. “Why are you shouting?” 

Had he been shouting? Techno opened his mouth and was struck with a thought that felt true: _They hate you. They're right to. They shouldn't trust you._

He turned and left. 

Later: the night sky, as empty and silent and comforting as ever. A spot on the roof where he went to think. He thought nobody knew about it, but apparently he was wrong, because after a little while, he heard the hatch to the roof opening, footsteps coming up behind him. He thought it would be Phil, come to tell him off, but he stiffened in surprise when Wilbur sat next to him, instead, their legs dangling off the edge of the roof together. 

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said, and Techno almost laughed. God, he was such a fuck-up.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he said, staring out at the forest surrounding Phil’s house. “I shouldn’t have shouted.” 

“Well, yes, that was quite a jolt,” Wilbur said dryly, “but I should still say sorry. I… I probably came on a bit strong, didn’t I?” 

Techno stayed tactfully silent. They sat for a bit, looking out over the trees. 

Wilbur cleared his throat. “I, uh… I’ve never had a family before.” 

The frankness of the sentence took Techno aback. 

“Phil picked me up from an orphanage, if you can believe it,” Wilbur said with a weary sort of chuckle. “I’ve lived there, uh, my whole life, basically. And, I s’pose - I s’pose I was just excited, you know. To have a family. But, I should have known that maybe you wouldn’t feel the same way. So, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I don’t want to - I mean. I want us to be friends.” 

Techno nodded. He didn’t know what to say in response. Wilbur’s honesty was slightly off-putting, but he also respected it. It made him feel like Wilbur wasn’t hiding anything from him. 

After a bit, Wilbur said, “well, I’ll get out of your way,” and Techno impulsively held up a hand. 

“Wait, uh. Wilbur.” 

Wilbur paused. 

“I, um.” Each word felt like a barb coming out of Techno’s throat. “I… _have…_ had a family before.” 

_Hands on his throat, words that cut deep, blood on his blade_ _blood for the blood god -_

“They’re overrated,” Techno managed, shutting his eyes against the images. Then he opened them to see Wilbur looking at him, no judgement, just a tentative sort of understanding. “But Phil - Phil is a _good_ person,” he said firmly. “He’d be a good… dad, if that’s what you want. I just - I just don’t. Alright?”

“Alright, Techno,” Wilbur said, and gave him a little smile, and Techno smiled back. 

And the thing was, Techno liked Wilbur. He liked him more and more, the longer he knew him. He liked the way he was friendly, and funny, and the way he’d talk when Techno didn’t want to. He liked the way Wilbur made Phil’s house feel a little less lonely and a lot less boring, and the way Wilbur kept trying to teach him how to make music even though Techno had a miserable sense of rhythm. It took Techno a long time to feel safe around Phil, but it didn’t take very long until he felt safe around Wilbur. And he found himself flinching less when Wilbur described the three of them as family, even if Techno himself would never say the same.

They were brothers, or they weren’t. It didn’t matter. Wilbur became Techno’s best friend aside from Phil. They were the only two people Techno would have done anything for. 

Now Wilbur’s dead. He’s dead. _He’s DEAD. Phil killed him - he - -_

And yet - and yet Tommy is standing in front of him, with Wilbur’s coat, and Wilbur’s expression, asking Wilbur’s question, and there’s so, so goddamn much of Wilbur in him that it just makes Techno want to choke, makes his heart want to rip itself to shreds. The grief is still too much, sometimes; a raw, open wound with no location and no treatment. Nothing to do about it but try to pretend like it doesn’t exist.

There was a reason Techno didn’t want a family. 

“No,” is what he finally says to Tommy. He clears his throat. “I don’t want you to leave.” 

Tommy crosses his arms. 

“But -,” Techno sighs. “Just - come on. You might as well help me, y’know. Get down here. I’ll teach you.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes, but he hops off the fence, crouching down next to Techno. “What is there to learn?” 

That manages to get a good chuckle out of Techno, and Tommy looks at him with a scrunched-up expression, looking amused and maybe like he’s holding back a grin. “Tommy, you have _no_ idea.” 

Techno launches into it, explaining the strategy: how to monitor the amount of water in the soil, how to look for yellowing foliage to know when to harvest. Tommy, to his credit, seems to listen, even if he keeps going off track to say obnoxious things like _so this is why you’ve never had a girlfriend?_

“How long does it take til you can eat one?” Tommy asks while Techno waters the last row of shoots. 

“From start to finish? About three to four months.” 

“Three to four -,” Tommy looks at him like he’s insane. “For one potato?” 

“I know in your little child mind that seems like a millennia, but it’s really not that long, Tommy,” Techno says - and then he spots it: one potato that’s ready to be pulled up. It might be a few days early, but it’s worth it. “Come here.” 

And Tommy comes over, and Techno shows him how to dig it carefully out of the ground. When Tommy holds it in his hands, Techno thinks he sees that flicker of satisfaction in his face that Techno gets every time he harvests something. 

“So?” Techno says as they stand and start to make their way back to the cabin. “Won’t that be nice to eat, knowin’ that you grew it?” 

Tommy shrugs, but grins. “I think I’d rather just steal yours, honestly,” he says, and dodges Techno’s elbow. 

* * *

They vacillate like this, between friendliness and antagonism, for the better part of a week, as they focus on replenishing Techno’s depleted resources. He makes and enchants armor for Tommy, reforges weapons for himself. They start to strategize how they’ll get into L’Manburg. How they’ll rescue Phil. 

“I just don’t want to do anything to upset Tubbo,” Tommy says for the one hundredth time as they’re trekking back from the nearby village, supplies from their trades in tow. 

Techno resists an eye roll. “Right,” he says sarcastically. “We’d hate to upset the guy that sent you into exile and tried to kill me.” 

“You _successfully_ killed him once, _if_ you remember,” Tommy grumbles. 

“And did you try to get him exiled?” 

“Shut up, Techno.” 

The frozen branches of the spruce trees crackle above them. The gray clouds shift, and weak sunbeams gleam off of the snow. “It’s not Tubbo’s fault, you know,” Techno eventually says. 

“Well, I know that,” Tommy says. 

“It’s the government’s.” 

“Oh my fucking shit, Techno -”

“When you have to act in the interest of a large group of people, the rights of the individual matter less,” Techno forges on. “He couldn’t stick up for you without threatenin’ everyone. But that gives people like Dream a lot more power.” 

“Take your bullshit anarchist propaganda elsewhere, Techno, it’s a lost cause on me,” Tommy says, tugging his backpack higher on his shoulders. “I’m loyal to L’Manburg.”

“But why?” Techno presses. “What has L’Manburg ever done for you?” 

“You weren’t there at the beginning,” Tommy insists stubbornly. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

Techno shakes his head and sighs as they make it out of the forest, his cabin in sight over the plains. Arguing with Tommy is like running down a dead end and hoping it’ll turn into a highway. They always hit a brick wall where he will argue no further, and that point usually ends up being the war for L’Manburg’s independence. Tommy’s an expert, and Techno just isn’t, and that’s the end of it. Tommy gets this tunnel vision, or maybe it’s more like snow blindness - he can only focus on unimportant details, like his discs, and he can’t see the biggest problems that are staring him right in the face.

As though to prove Techno’s point, there’s suddenly a creeper right next to Tommy, blinking at them as it starts to hiss.

“Look out!” Techno shouts, grabbing Tommy and yanking him back while he pulls up his shield. The creeper explodes, the blast rocking them back, though the shield absorbs most of the hit. When he drops it, there’s a small crater in his yard, and Techno groans. 

“You have to look out for those things, Tommy,” Techno says in exasperation, turning - 

But Tommy is standing stock-still, staring at the crater, gone terribly pale. His diamond helmet, which Techno made for him that morning, is in his hands.

“Tommy?” Techno says. He reaches out to touch Tommy’s shoulder. 

Tommy flinches and wrenches away. “Don’t,” he says, quickly, automatically. 

“Don’t what?” 

Tommy looks back and forth from Techno to the site of the explosion. “Um,” he says, shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Techno repeats dryly. “Why did you take your helmet off?”

“I said it was nothing,” Tommy snaps, glaring at Techno. “Ever learned to mind your own fuckin’ business?” Then he stalks towards the cabin, picking up into a jog and leaving Techno behind. 

_Dream did this,_ Techno thinks for the tenth time in only a few days - though he still doesn’t quite understand what _this_ is.

When Techno makes it back inside the cabin, he hears Tommy chattering excitedly in the kitchen, and a warbling response: “I missed you too, Tommy! Where is Technoblade?”

The ghost. Techno can feel his energy draining already.

He closes the front door and hears Tommy go quiet. When he comes into the kitchen, Tommy is saying, “Bye, Wilbur,” and pushing past him, not making eye contact with Techno as he rushes for his room. 

Techno watches him leave, crossing his arms. Hears the hidden stone slide into place, closing Tommy off. He sighs. 

“How are you, Techno?” Wilbur’s ghost asks, and Techno looks at him. The ghost is clenching a handful of blue dye in his fist, some of which is dripping onto the ground, _like blood_ _._ Techno shakes his head. 

“I’m doin’ my best,” he says, the conversation with Tommy replaying in his head. He doesn’t know how to talk to the kid. He wonders if he was ever this difficult with Wilbur.

“Um… Ghostbur,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Do you remember what it was like when Tommy first came to live with you and Phil?” 

The ghost tilts his head, the whites of his eyes flickering. “I… I don’t.” 

Techno laughs shortly. That answers that.

Techno wouldn't know, himself. He had moved out from Phil’s house as soon as he had turned eighteen - as soon as Phil was no longer his guardian, and Techno didn’t have any more reason to stay. Phil and Wilbur had supported him, though they were sad to see him leave, and Techno had largely ventured out on his own, remaking a name for himself outside of the context of the tournament ring. 

It was a few months later that he found out Phil had taken in another kid - a much younger boy, apparently, named Tommy. Wilbur told him about it in letters that Techno kept stored in his desk and reread from time to time. Tommy was young, Wilbur said, brave. Wilbur was spending a lot of time with him, and liked him. This made Techno feel strange. He didn't know why. Didn't have any reason for it.

Techno still remembers the first day he dropped by Phil’s house after Tommy arrived. The way Wilbur had run out to greet him, followed by a young boy, maybe 10 or 11 - curly hair, wide eyes, radiating anxious energy.

“Technoblade,” Wilbur said, ruffling the younger boy's hair, “this is Tommy.” 

The two had stared at each other for a long moment. Techno cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” Tommy had squeaked, then hidden behind Wilbur.

Wilbur laughed, but Techno felt almost unsettled. A lot had changed at Phil’s house - it was messier, covered in patchwork repairs. And Phil wasn’t there. Apparently, a new building contract had taken him away on a long trip. 

Techno hadn’t known what it would be like to return, but now he knew. It felt like there was no longer space for him here. When Tommy wasn’t downright cowering from him, he was shouting and running around like a mini tornado, and Techno found himself glad he wasn’t dealing with his chaos on a daily basis. Yet Wilbur seemed to love him. As much as he acted exasperated, there was an undeniable fondness in his actions, easy and obvious. Techno didn't fit in here, anymore. And Wilbur and Tommy clearly didn't need him to.

Which was fine. It was good. Techno didn't care. Why would he?

Later that evening, after Tommy had gone to bed, Wilbur and Techno went out for a walk. The sun had just set and the evening was dim and blue, and the two talked freely as they walked through the forest path, which Phil had lit with softly glowing lanterns. They caught up with each other about their time apart, then fell into a comfortable silence as the sound of whirring cicadas filled the air.

“I’m glad you came by,” Wilbur eventually said. “Tommy was very excited to meet you.” 

Techno hummed, looking at his feet. 

“He’s a good kid, you know,” Wilbur said. “You’d like him, if you got to know him. He’s funny, when he’s not being completely obnoxious. Or intimidated by you.” 

“Why would he be intimidated by me?” Techno asked, which made Wilbur nearly wheeze with laughter. Techno couldn’t help but laugh as well, rubbing his neck. “Okay, maybe I’m not exactly _approachable.”_

“Anyway, he’s heard a lot about you,” Wilbur said, wiping at his eyes. He seemed to pause a bit longer before saying his next words. “You’d know him a bit better, if you came around more often. It might be nice. Considering he’s your ‘not brother’ now.” He made finger quotes in the air around the phrase. 

Techno gave him a look. “Wilbur,” he said, as they climbed up a gently sloping hill. “You and Phil are my… “‘not family’.” He made the air quotes, too, which made Wilbur grin. “That doesn't include Tommy.” 

“Well, he is Phil’s kid, now, and he’s certainly my little brother,” Wilbur said. “That’s kind of how family tends to work.” 

Techno shook his head. “Not for me.” 

“Ah, because you’re _so special,”_ said Wilbur, a tease in his voice. 

“Precisely. Y'know, I was startin' to think you'd never get it.” 

They stopped as they neared the top of the hill and turned. From here, they could see the top of Phil’s house, peeking just over the tops of the trees. Fireflies danced through the forest, flickering in and out of view. 

“You don’t really want to be family with me, Wilbur,” he said, and felt Wilbur’s head turn towards him. “It’s a liability. For everyone involved.” Techno gave Wilbur a quick glance. “The people I get close to. They tend to hurt me. And I tend to hurt them right back.” 

A long moment of silence. Then Wilbur scoffed, shoving Techno with his shoulder. “Yeah, cause we’ve done a lot of hurting each other.” 

Techno’s solemnity didn’t break. “We could, someday.” 

Wilbur leveled his gaze at him. “Techno,” he said. “The - the point of family is that you’re always there for each other. And this is a good family. We’ll never hurt each other in a way that can’t be undone.”

There wasn't any point in arguing what neither of them knew. Techno just said, “I hope so, Wilbur.” 

And that was how the next few years passed. Techno would visit sparingly, catch up with Wilbur, keep Tommy at an arm’s length. He could tell the kid looked up to him by the way he would leap to talk to Techno during his visits, hanging on Techno’s stories of conquest from other lands. But they didn’t know each other. They weren’t family. It was best, for everyone, that they weren't.

And what are they now? _Business partners,_ Techno reminds himself. He doesn’t need to know how to talk to Tommy. He doesn’t need to know how to make him feel better. It’s not his responsibility.

 _It’s not my responsibility,_ he thinks firmly, and his conscience mournfully argues otherwise. 

* * *

Tommy is back to relative normal the next day. They don’t talk about what happened. 

They’re sitting in the kitchen, making dinner, when it happens again. 

An uncanny stillness in the air. A knock on the door. They look at each other, and they both know. Dream. 

This time, though, they’re not unprepared. Tommy carefully sets down his potato peeler and tiptoes to the ladder, scaling it and heading towards his hidden room. Techno scans the room for evidence of Tommy’s existence, puts away his extra dinner plate, and heads for the door just as a second knock sounds. “Coming.” 

Dream doesn’t even say hello this time before he pushes his way inside, his head swiveling, surveying the room. 

“Hello to you, too,” Techno says dryly. 

“How have you been,” Dream says in an uninterested monotone. He goes for the pantry and swings open the door.

Techno swallows. “You hungry?” he says, trying to ease the tension. 

Dream doesn’t take the bait. He checks under the sink, next, and then knocks his foot against the barrel in the corner. 

“You know, it’s generally considered rude to come into another man’s house and start kickin’ his things.” 

“Yeah,” Dream says. “Just felt like looking around. You don’t mind.” Not a question. 

He starts to scale the ladder down to the basement, and Techno follows him, an anticipatory lurch in his stomach. “Oh, I kind of do, though,” he says, and gets off the ladder just in time to see Dream stepping directly over the stone they’re using to cover Tommy’s hiding point. If he notices, he doesn’t react. His gaze is fixed on the opposite wall, where Techno realizes they’ve left some of Tommy’s stupid signs up. Dream is looking at a sign that reads, _get more women. ASAP!_

Dream turns slowly and Techno jokes, “Don't judge me, man. You know how it is.” 

Dream doesn’t laugh. The silence betweens them thickens and ties itself into knots. 

“You sure you haven’t seen Tommy?” Dream asks, low and dangerous. 

“I’m sure.” 

“It just seems hard for me to believe.” 

“Why?” Techno asks. 

“Aren’t you two supposed to be brothers?” 

The question startles him. And, because history is apparently doomed to repeat itself, Techno suddenly finds himself standing in that awful little ravine that Wilbur insisted on calling _Pogtopia._ He had come when Wilbur asked him to, because it was Wilbur, and he needed help. Nevermind that the Wilbur he had found was someone changed, someone already on the rails of derangement. Nevermind that he had failed to mention that Techno would be living with Tommy, too, in a way he never had before and had never really wanted. 

In his memory, he stood in the ravine as Tommy introduced him to his wide-eyed friend named Tubbo. 

“You’re Technoblade,” Tubbo said, his gaze moving between him and Tommy. “You’re Tommy’s brother?” 

And Tommy crowed, “yes!” at the very same moment Techno said, “no.” 

Silence. A crestfallen stare. Tommy’s face, suddenly so terribly embarrassed - and maybe even heartbroken. 

“Sorry,” Tommy said with a burst of false cheer as an awful feeling crowded into Techno’s chest. “Sorry. I just thought, um - I’m sorry,” and he bolted away, pulling Tubbo behind him.

 _It’s okay. This is how it should be,_ Techno thought. There was no way Tommy could understand - so he didn't need to. He just needed to know that they weren't brothers. They couldn't be.

They weren’t brothers when Tommy betrayed him after the war. They weren’t brothers when Techno set a Wither onto him and his beaten-down friends. And they weren’t brothers when Tommy had chased him out of his land with an axe and a promise. It was easier that way. Unfathomable, the other. 

But he would never forget the look of betrayal on Tommy’s face, in the ravine, and after Wilbur had destroyed himself and Techno had tried to finish the job of his country. The look that told Techno that Tommy thought otherwise. 

Nothing’s changed. Techno has been right all along. Being family is nothing but a liability. Being family is leading Dream to Tommy, right now. 

“No,” Techno says firmly to Dream. The floor is thin, and he knows that Tommy can hear him when he says, “We aren’t brothers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much to everyone who's been reading!! this one took me a while to get right and I'm a bit nervous about it; I'd love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> although the dream smp plot seems to be moving on from this tommy & techno subplot, I'm going to continue writing this and filling in some of the blanks of what happened during this arc. it actually helps to know that it seems to be wrapping up, as I'm planning on keeping this close to canon, and it gives me a better idea of where it's going to end up. all that to say I'm still planning on finishing this :)
> 
> see you soon!!


	4. correlation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno and Tommy have nothing in common. Well - almost nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enormous thank you to Qupid for their help with this chapter <3

The activated blaze powder crackles in its container, popping with strange heat against the stone, and Techno carefully tips the crushed-up Nether wart into the top spout of the brewing stand. Slowly, as to allow them the time they need to combine, he tilts the two ingredients into the stand’s spiral tubes, the blaze powder’s golden shimmer enveloping and melting the pieces of mealy red plant as they tumble together. 

Techno is not a natural at brewing potions; he forgets the ingredients too easily, and he has a poor sense of timing. Even now, he’s not sure if he’s combining the ingredients at the right pace, and awkward potions are supposed to be the easiest to brew. He hasn’t even started to add the carrots, or the spider eyes, that he needs to make Invisibility. But the water bottles placed at the spouts successfully start to thicken as the ingredients dissolve into them, and once it’s done, Techno takes a step back, shaking the tension out of his hands. 

A noise outside shakes him from his focus - an insistent neighing. He realizes he’s forgotten to feed Carl, and guilt pulls him towards the sound. But the Invisibility needs to be finished soon, if he doesn’t want the awkward potion to congeal. 

“Tommy,” he calls, and Tommy’s head pokes up from the basement floor. “Can you come finish these potions for me? I need to take care of Carl.” He’s not sure Tommy knows how to do it, but he’d rather him try and fail than go out and set Carl loose or fill his trough with nails or something.

Tommy climbs up the ladder and joins him at the stand. “Invis?” 

“Yeah,” Techno says. “You gotta add the golden carrot first, then the -” 

Tommy’s already doing it, breaking the carrots into chunks with his hands and dropping them in the top, grabbing the handle of the blaze powder container and tilting it with a slow, practiced hand. 

It takes Techno by surprise. “You know how to do this?” 

Tommy’s gaze flickers briefly towards him, an annoyed twist to his mouth. “Your confidence in me is inspiring, big man.” 

“No, I’m - I didn’t mean it like that,” Techno stumbles. It was supposed to be a compliment. “I just didn’t think you would’ve -,” 

“Wilbur taught me,” Tommy cuts him off. 

His thoughts stumble to a halt. “Ah.” 

Tommy holds the stand at an angle to let the carrot fully dissolve in the blaze powder, and then lets out a sigh. “So, _Carl?”_

“Right,” Techno says abruptly, and leaves in an embarrassed rush. 

It’s been like this since last night; since Dream left, and Tommy came silently up the ladder to finish dinner before disappearing to his room. He hadn’t been angry or even mentioned what Techno had said. But whatever ground they had made up between the two of them seems to have suddenly disappeared, leaving them stranded in a no-man’s-land between politeness and passive-aggression. 

Which is fine, Techno reminds himself, as he forks fresh hay into Carl’s stable, mumbling his horse a gentle apology. Distance from Tommy is what he wants. 

By the time he makes it back inside, Tommy’s made it through two batches of Invisibility, the bottles lined up carefully on the counter. Techno is begrudgingly impressed, thinks, _maybe I should stop underestimating the kid,_ before immediately deciding _nah_ as Tommy reaches for a bottle and takes a swig. 

“Tommy!” he says, lurching forward and stopping him. “Not yet! We need this for L’Manburg.” 

“I knew that,” Tommy scoffs. “I was just checking to make sure they work.” He stretches out his arms. “So? Have I gone invisible and shit?” 

He only got through a quarter of the bottle, so he’s still visible, but his skin has taken on a kind of ghostly quality. “You do look... translucent,” Techno muses. 

Tommy cracks a grin. “A bit more potent than Tubbo bath water, eh?” 

Techno stares at him uncomprehendingly. There’s something fundamental to his brain chemistry that’s preventing him from processing those words arranged in that order. 

Tommy’s smile falters, then falls, and he shakes his head. “Forget it, stupid,” he says, clearing his throat. “We need anything else?”

“Just our armor,” Techno says, glad for the chance to move on, and he steps awkwardly around Tommy to open up the chest sitting against the wall, which holds the spoils from a night spent in the forge. They’re nowhere close to the perfected items he spent weeks on and lost during his execution, but they’re usable, for now.

“Armor?” Tommy asks over his shoulder. 

“Naturally,” Techno says, and starts to pull out his gear. It’s enchanted Netherite, because Techno may be down a few counts, but he hasn’t fallen _that_ far - and he can’t help his gleam of satisfaction when he hands Tommy a helmet and sees the astonishment in his eyes. 

“Is... this is mine?” Tommy asks, turning it over in his hands. 

Techno nods. “I mean, you mined the Netherite yourself, it’s not a big deal,” he says, even though the look in Tommy’s eyes says otherwise. 

“Right,” Tommy says, “I know that,” and puts the helmet on. 

* * *

The air grows warmer the closer they get to L’Manburg, but when they finally reach its outer border, Techno feels a distinct chill start to spread from the base of his neck. He and Tommy are crouched at the top of a nearby hill, peering down at the country. It’s quiet, with only a few people walking its streets, filtering in and out of its dark, wooden buildings. 

Despite his reputation for bravery, Techno is not fearless. Fearlessness implies a level of recklessness that he has never been able to afford. Techno feels fear - sometimes a little too strongly. Looking at L’Manburg, the site of the war, the site of destruction, the site of his execution, the site of Phil’s capture - he feels afraid. He crouches lower in the bushes.

“Alright,” he says. “You remember the plan?” 

Tommy counts the objectives out on his fingers. “Talk to Phil. Figure out who has your shit. Get out.” 

“Good,” Techno says. “Once we get in there, stay close. Don’t make _any_ sound. Keep an eye on your invis and a hand on your shield. Got it?”

“Jesus, you’re talking like we’re about to walk into a gladiator arena or something,” Tommy scoffs. 

“We are,” Techno says, a shiver running through him. 

Tommy gives him a look. “Techno. I get the need for subtlety. I’m an extraordinarily subtle man. But L’Manburg is _not_ that scary.”

“Yes, it is.” 

Tommy rolls his eyes and points down. “Look - it’s not. It’s - there’s Phil’s house, and Tubbo’s. Okay, two friends.”

“Tubbo is not -,”

“And there-,” pointing again - “those docks? I built those with Phil. The lanterns, that was Wilbur, or, eh, Ghostbur, I s’pose. You see that tree? That’s been here since the very beginning. Fucker refuses to die, I should know, ‘cos I was accidentally watering it with weed killer for a while there.”

“I don’t see why this is relevant, Tommy,” Techno says, as the kid rambles on: “That’s where we used to scam Dream, it was - well, you had to be there, I guess. And over there -“

For a moment, he gestures towards where the podium stands, rebuilt. And Techno freezes up. Because standing behind it, sunk into the exposed face of the hill, is a small, torn-apart room of stone and dirt. They haven’t moved it, they haven’t changed it or covered it up. It’s - it’s still there, that fucking room - 

Tommy stumbles for a bit in his speech, as well, going quiet for a blessed second; but then he bulldozes onward: “Fundy used to make us -”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Techno snaps, stopping him short. “I don’t care. And you’re being too loud.”

Tommy glares at him, but at least temporarily, he goes quiet.

The potions don’t go down easy; they sizzle and burn in Techno’s throat, and he sees Tommy wince before he fades from view, nothing to mark his existence but a faint shimmer, like he can see the air being displaced. He doesn’t look down at his own invisible arms for too long; not being able to see his own body is always a disquieting experience. Silently, with only an awkward bump against Tommy’s elbow to ensure he’s following, they start to creep down the side of the hill.

Like they discussed, Techno and Tommy climb into the crater left by Wilbur’s bombs before slowly lifting themselves up one of the ladders connected to the raised platforms of L’Manburg’s streets. There’s nobody around; the only evidence of nearby people are voices drifting from a few houses down, distant and eerie. Being here feels deeply wrong to Techno, like something is crawling under his skin, but he hears Tommy whisper, “that’s Jack!” with a hint of glee - which makes Techno wince. 

While Tommy’s shimmer pauses to stand guard outside the house, Techno slips in through the door to Phil’s lower level, eases it shut so as not to make a sound. The house stands silent, not even a creak against the wood.

“Phil?” Techno whispers harshly, to no response. He climbs to the higher level, but finds nobody. Isn’t Phil supposed to be on house arrest? “ _Phil_ ?” _Not here. He’s not here. Fuck!_

He looks around for signs of life and finds a few chests that look like they’ve been tossed, some random items scattered around the floor. Worry twists in his chest. If Phil escaped, wouldn’t he have spoken to Techno? Wouldn’t he have sent him some kind of message? _Anything?_

Techno thinks about what the ghost had said - that Phil had been near his house. He’d assumed the spirit was disoriented or confused. 

Surely, he was. Something else must be wrong. Maybe they’ve taken him somewhere else; maybe they’ve locked him up. Techno grits his teeth and tries - he tries not to think about what they might be doing to him. Intrusive, violent images flood him anyway, and his blood runts hot.

 _Stop,_ he tells himself, _calm down._ He can’t do anything for Phil if he can’t find him. And he can’t wage more war on this godforsaken country until he’s stronger, until he gets his gear back. For now, Techno reaches into his pack, pulls out his notebook, and scribbles down a note. 

_If you see this, please send me a message. I’m looking for you._

No need to sign it. He goes for a barrel, tucked into a corner, that he knows Phil will check if he returns. A secret hiding place, wedged behind the furnace. Techno keeps a similar barrel everywhere he goes. He’s not sure which one of them picked it up from the other. 

When he opens the barrel, something falls out, hitting the floor. Techno picks up the letter he sent with Ghostbur. The envelope is opened. 

His heart twists. Did Ghostbur put this here? Would Ghostbur have known about the barrel? Probably not, so - Phil must have. He read it, then, but he didn’t answer. For confirmation, Techno opens the envelope, and sees his own handwriting set in black ink against the thick white paper. 

_Phil, I’m sorry you had to see what happened today. You know I could have fought them all off if I wanted to, but they figured out my horse was important to me, so - what else could I do? I should know by now not to have things like that, huh?_

His hands crinkle the paper. He doesn’t bother to finish reading 

So Phil is here - or he was at some point. It’s not important. Techno shoves both of his letters into the barrel again, closes it, and places a hand against it, taking a heavy breath. 

_“Techno?”_ comes a whisper. 

Techno whirls and sees an empty doorframe, an opened door. Held open by magic, apparently. 

“Tommy,” he hisses, rushing towards him. “Close that.”

“Is Phil here?” says Tommy’s voice, the door swinging shut behind him with a careless bang. It’s like a gunshot in Techno’s ears. 

“Does it look like he’s here?”

“Well, where is he, then?”

“How should I know?” Techno snaps, trying not to let his voice rise in frustration. “Come on - I left him a letter, there’s - there’s not much else we can do here.”

“Well, while you were busy talking to nobody,” Tommy says, “I figured out who’s got your stuff.” 

“Who?” 

A hand on his shoulder pushes him towards the window, a movement passing in front of his eyes. Techno looks in the direction he’s being pointed and sees him. 

It’s an odd-looking… person: a sort of hybrid, maybe, a mix of species that Techno can’t quite identify. He looks young, tall but lanky, like he hasn’t grown into his feet, yet, or his large, glowing eyes. Most importantly - he has the Axe of Peace in his hands and is showing it off to Fundy, who’s wearing his cabinet uniform and laughing. 

“That’s Ranboo,” Tommy says. “Skinny fella. Reckon we could mug him pretty easy.” 

“Okay, good,” Techno says, nodding. At least this trip won’t have been for nothing. They’ll come back with a plan, figure out how to get it from Ranboo without attracting too much attention - maybe track where he goes, figure out a way to corner him when he’s by himself - 

“I got this,” Tommy says, and the door slams shut. 

Panic tears through him. “No, Tommy, wait!” he hisses, jolting after him, but by the time he gets through the door, Tommy is gone. Techno can’t see where he went. His heart lurches sick in his chest, and his mind whirls, but he feels frozen with paralyzing uncertainty: are they safe? Can they be seen? Does he need to take another potion? Or does he need to start barrelling towards this _Ranboo_ guy? Is that what Tommy’s doing? 

Should he run? 

Something blunt and instinctual in his head tells him, _No. H_ _elp Tommy._ It sounds a little too much like Phil.

“This is why I don’t fucking _trust_ Tommy,” Techno can’t help but growl back, and, with enormous effort, he jogs down the steps and towards Ranboo and Fundy. He moves quickly but carefully, trying to maintain his cover, his instincts screaming at him from all angles. 

He ducks behind one building, then bolts to another, until he’s close enough to hear the two of them talking. 

“I honestly can’t believe we actually got this away from him,” Ranboo is saying, swinging the axe in a lazy arc, like it’s a toy. Techno scowls and grabs another invisibility potion, downing it with a grimace. 

“I can’t believe Tubbo left you in charge of his stuff,” Fundy laughs. 

“Why not? I’m responsible!” 

“Dude, you forget where you left your own stuff, like, _at least_ seventy-five percent of the time.” 

“Well, I’m responsible with _other_ people’s stuff,” Ranboo grumbles as Techno scans the small grassy knoll they’re standing on, trying to catch a glimpse of that shimmer that would betray Tommy’s position.

He sees it, then: just a hint of motion, like something in his periphery; a shake to the air just behind Ranboo, and suddenly, the kid yelps, as his hair pulls viciously back. He grabs at his head with his free hand, the other still clenched around the axe handle, as he stumbles back and whirls around. “What was that?” he shouts.

Tommy’s shadow darts away and Techno’s heart leaps into his throat, as Fundy says, “What happened?” 

“Something touched my head,” Ranboo says. “Was it a - a bird or something?”

“What?” Fundy asks incredulously, and then a bucket of water is being dumped over his head. 

Ranboo jumps away from the splash with a startled yell, while Fundy whirls in disorientation, soaked from head to foot - and Tommy’s cover is well and truly blown, because Fundy’s shouting, “there’s someone here, they’re invisible!” and he’s pulling his sword, starting to swipe it wildly in Tommy’s direction - 

Techno curses and draws his shield and rushes in. It isn’t much of a fight: he slams the blunt end of his sword’s handle against Fundy’s head, crumpling him, and sees Tommy wrench the axe from Ranboo’s hands. It doesn’t take much: Ranboo easily gives up the axe and bolts, his long limbs scrambling for purchase over the ground. 

But the fight isn’t the end of it. There’s the axe, hovering ominously in the air; and the fact that Techno can see Tommy now, faintly, because his potion’s wearing off. And then Tommy starts cackling, which is even fucking _worse,_ because anyone, anyone who’s heard him laugh even once could identify him just from that - and in case there were any enemies nearby who weren’t already on their tails, Tommy decides to whoop, lifting the axe in the air. “Don’t come back!” 

In Techno’s head - 

Panic. A headrush of fear, and the knowledge: _more of them are coming -_

“Tommy!” he harshes, wrenching Tommy’s shoulder back. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Tommy looks surprised. “Getting your fucking axe back, man, what does it look like?” 

“It looks like you’re gettin' the entire country on our backs!” Techno shouts - no use trying to stay quiet, now. “Take the fuckin' invis, you idiot! I can see you!” 

Tommy startles. “It’s fine,” he says, though he’s scrambling for his potion.

“It’s too late,” Techno says, _“goddammit,_ Tommy,” because there are already people racing over the top of the hill where Ranboo disappeared, seeing Tommy - seeing him talking to someone. And Quackity is there, a fresh scar on the soft underside of his chin and a sword in his hand, rage on his face - 

Techno’s survival instincts kick into high gear. He wrenches his shield in front of Tommy to block the first arrow fired his way, and then he grabs his arm and runs, yanking him behind him as they fly through the SMP. 

“Don’t let them escape!” Quackity shouts, and Techno’s feet slam against the ground hard as he stumbles over the unfamiliar terrain. The only place to go is further into Dream’s territory, full of more unfamiliar corners, more dark places for enemies to hide. Tommy, at least, has the decency to run, and he seems to have gotten another invisibility potion down his throat - but he’s _stupidly, stupidly_ screaming an insult over his shoulder - something classy like _“eat my dick, bitch!”_ which might have been funny if Techno weren’t so sure they were about to die.

Techno skids around the corner of a large brick building, yanks Tommy along with him, and throws out an arm to press them both against the wall. 

“Techno,” Tommy says, “calm down, this isn’t -”

Techno slams a frantic hand against Tommy’s mouth, muffling him, as the small group of L’Manburgians rush by, weapons at the ready, shouting and searching for them. His heartbeat is heavy in his ears. 

Tommy makes a muffled sound against his hand and he presses his hand even harder against him. 

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Tommy,” he hisses furiously, and Tommy stills. “Now listen. When I say so, we run. _Fast._ No arguing. _Got it?”_

Slowly, he feels Tommy nod under his hand. 

Techno waits, and watches as Quackity and his small band of hunters stalk back down the path, peering into the shadows and alleys on either side. But for all of his many fuck-ups today, Tommy’s invisibility potions were well-made; Quackity’s gaze sears right over them, but he doesn’t stop. His scowl just deepens, and the L’Manburgians disappear. 

Techno drops his hand from Tommy’s mouth, whispers, “go,” and they bolt. 

* * *

  
They run through the forest and over the plains until they’re gasping for air, and then they walk, through a silence that’s laced with gunpowder. The invisibility potions wear off about halfway back to their base. Techno stalks angrily ahead, and behind him, Tommy sullenly drags the edge of Techno’s axe in the ground. 

Techno fumes. In his head, he runs through the same argument, litigated a hundred ways. _You were dangerous, you were reckless, you put us both in danger!_ He’s right, every time; and every time, he loses. This is the nature of dealing with Tommy.

The cabin door slams open; Techno throws his sword to the floor. He pulls his helmet off and sets it heavy on the table as Tommy closes the door behind them. He takes a deep breath, but not even the safety of the cabin can take the rigid tension out of his shoulders. Adrenaline is still skipping all over his nerves.

“Well?”

Techno turns. Tommy is standing at the door, his fists clenched at his side. There’s a storm on his face. 

“ _Well_ , what?” Techno says. 

“Go ahead, then,” Tommy says. 

Techno brings an exasperated hand up to rub his face. “What are you talking about.” 

“You obviously have something you want to say to me,” Tommy says in an angry rush, “so just say it.”

_This fucking kid -_

“Just say it, Techno!” 

“What the fuck were you doing back there?” Techno snaps, and Tommy’s jaw clenches. “I don’t know if you’re suicidal or just plain stupid, but you -” 

“I am _not_ stupid!”

“- you can’t just drag me along with you, and yes, Tommy, _you are._ Rushing in, blowing our cover in front of the very people who want us dead, that’s -” 

“They don’t want us dead!”

 _“YES!”_ Techno roars. _“THEY DO!”_

Tommy shuts up. His face drains of color. 

“I know you want to believe that L’Manburg is your home,” Techno says, his rehearsed lines flowing out of him, although they feel more disjointed, and less satisfying, when they leave his thoughts and have to face the scrutiny of sound. “I know you want to believe they care about you. But _they don’t,_ Tommy. That government is corrupt, the country is doomed, and they want me dead, and they don’t give a shit if you live. And unlike you, I can’t - I can’t go around livin’ in this little fantasy land, where nobody ever wants to hurt me, alright?” 

“You’re wrong,” Tommy says defensively, his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched. “L’Manburg isn’t doomed.” 

“Why not?”

“We - we need L’Manburg. Without L’Manburg - what’s the point of all this? What’s -”

“But _why,_ Tommy?” Techno presses. This is the tipping point, this is the question he needs answered, the conclusion Tommy never seems to reach: the _why,_ the _reasoning,_ because he never gives any. It’s always just empty phrases and empty ideals, like regurgitated scriptures, devoid of meaning. “Why do you need L’Manburg? You can live in peace! You and Tubbo could be friends again, if it weren’t for that country. Why can’t you see _it’s our enemy?”_

“How can you say that?” Tommy shouts, which – which doesn’t make any sense at all. “What about Wilbur?”

Techno stops. The change in topic nearly short-circuits his brain.

“What does Wilbur have to do with this?” he says.

“What does –,” Tommy cries in disbelief. “Wilbur has _everything_ to do with this! You – you think he’d want us to go in there and blow it all up?”

“Wilbur already tried!” Techno says, his heart pounding hard in his chest. There’s something here, something he isn’t seeing, something he doesn’t understand. “He tried to destroy L’Manburg because he knew it had failed!”

“That wasn’t Wilbur,” Tommy says, heat behind his words. “It wasn’t. He changed. I don’t – I don’t know what happened but he _changed,_ you _saw_ he’d changed -,” he takes a step towards Techno, bringing a hand up to punch a finger towards him: “I _know_ you saw it, because _you knew him, too.”_

The dull glint in Wilbur’s eyes. The smile, stretched a little too far over his face - the way his laugh sounded like it hurt, the way his shoulders shook - and he never slept, and he never ate, and he never quite seemed to look Techno in the eye - 

“He was still Wilbur, when he created L’Manburg,” Tommy whispers, and then something dark comes across his face: “and then _you_ showed up -” 

“What,” Techno interrupts before he can even say it, before he can even dare: “what, Tommy, you’re going to blame this on me? You’re going to pin Wilbur on me, Tommy, really?” 

“Who else am I supposed to blame it on?” Tommy practically screams, and Techno realizes they’re _yelling,_ their feet set like they’re about to throw fists, close enough that Techno can see Tommy’s throat work as he says, “I can’t blame it on Phil, _apparently,_ even though he’s the one who fuckin’ stabbed him, because Phil just - just completely shuts down on me, if I even bring it up, and - and I can’t blame Schlatt, because he got fuckin’ elected and anyway he’s _dead,_ and - and I can’t blame _Wilbur,_ and I can’t escape him because he’s _literally fucking haunting me,_ so who am I - what am I - what else am I supposed to do? Who else am I -” 

He cuts off with a shuddering breath, freezes. 

And Techno doesn’t think, he doesn’t move. He just _feels_ that wound open up in his chest, that raw grief, clawing to life, tearing him to shreds, _again,_ the same terrible thing, the same beast, he can now hear roaring through Tommy’s anguished words.

How has he never heard it before?

“It’s all I have left of him,” Tommy says. He looks wrecked. “L’Manburg. It’s our home, he made it for us. He - I - he’s - nobody’s - nobody’s ever going to care about me the way Wilbur did, I know that, and I just - I just don’t know how to let that go. I don’t know -” He cuts himself off, a choked sound in his throat. 

His words echo Techno’s own thoughts, stolen from his darkest moments. And through the haze of fading adrenaline, as his mind clears, he realizes - he realizes. 

Have either of them been given the chance to mourn? Not with Phil, that’s for sure; Tommy’s right, Phil can’t bear to discuss it. He shuts down conversation with a quick, “Wilbur’s still here,” as though the ghost lingering around them could hold a candle to Wilbur’s brilliance, his humor, his genius, his courage. And who else could understand? - who else could know? The way Wilbur made you feel like you were the most incredible person on the planet - like you were important, and good, and worthwhile, just because he decided you were; the way he made you want to live up to that, to be the person he thought you were. 

Techno misses him like a live wire, like the breath punched out of him, misses the way he’d always know how to get Techno out of his own head, how they’d gang up on Phil to get what they wanted, how he’d drag Techno into things he wouldn’t want to do but would thank him for later - everything, everything about him, his brother, his best friend, one of two people on earth Techno would have done anything for.

Techno doesn’t understand Tommy. He doesn’t understand his bizarre obsessions, he doesn’t understand his freely-given loyalty, he doesn’t understand the way he talks or the way he acts or the things he does: but in this moment, he understands something about Tommy in a way nobody else does. Their grief has symmetry.

Techno breathes in, finally, like tearing air into collapsed lungs, and he rasps, “I know how you feel, Tommy.” 

Tommy, startled. Tears welling up fast in his eyes. 

“I know exactly how you feel.”

“Do you ever dream about it?” Tommy blurts out. “I mean -”

“Yes.” He doesn’t have to say it.

“Sometimes,” Tommy says, “it’s like I can’t get it out of my fucking head,” and he rubs his eyes viciously, like he’s seeing it right this very moment. 

Which he very well might be. Because Techno is. That little exposed room of ragged stone and dirt. And Wilbur, tears streaking down his face, laughing, senseless, and Phil - and the sword, cruel and violent - 

Tommy is crying now, folding slightly into himself, his shoulders shaking, his breath coming in shaky little sobs. Techno doesn’t know what to do, so he thinks about what Wilbur would have done - and before he can stop himself, he’s putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder and pulling him in. 

Tommy clings onto him immediately, grabbing onto the back of Techno’s shirt, and Techno puts a hand on the back of Tommy’s head. Tommy is too thin, too small, still so young. And all the fight and resistance and stubbornness seems to melt out of him. 

“I miss him,” Tommy whispers, as his sobs start to subside. 

Techno says, “I miss him, too.”

* * *

He runs out of ideas about what Wilbur would do, and has to rely on his own ideas of how to help people feel better, which mostly involves guiding Tommy into a chair in front of the fireplace, stoking the fire to life, and putting on a pan for hot cocoa. Steam curls off the mug as he hands it to Tommy, who accepts it, red-eyed and grateful. 

They sit in exhausted silence for a moment, staring into the fire, before Tommy straightens up, clearing his throat. 

“Techno,” he says. “Why is it you hate L’Manburg so much?” 

Techno looks at him wearily. “You sure you want to have this conversation right now, Tommy?” 

But Tommy just nods. “I don’t want to fight,” he says resolutely. “I don’t want to yell. I just want to… talk. I just want to talk about it.”

Techno bites his lip. And he nods. “Alright,” he says. “Alright.” 

The fire crackles, and Techno shifts in his seat to face Tommy directly. “It basically comes down to this, Tommy. Do you think anyone knows how to run your life better than you do?” 

A flicker of familiar indignation on Tommy’s face. “No.” 

“And if someone came around and tried to force you to act a certain way - or to give up certain things - and told you it was for your own good, would that be right?”

Tommy goes still. A moment later, he quietly says, “No.”

“I agree,” Techno says, shrugging. “So why let a government do that? Or, why give people the power to do that with the force of a government? It always goes bad, Tommy, and L’Manburg is no exception.”

Tommy’s mouth twists, and his finger picks at the handle of the mug. “Government can be a good thing, though,” he falters. “It can protect people.” 

“Has L’Manburg ever protected you?” 

_“Yes,”_ Tommy says, and the resolution in his words takes Techno aback. Their gazes meet. “The reason Wilbur created L’Manburg - it was for me, it was for _us._ It was our _home_. A safe place, away from Dream. And it worked! We kept him away. There’s - there’s strength in numbers, there’s strength in community, that you can’t - you can’t get on your own.” He shakes his head, and shudders. “I don’t want it to just be everyone on their own.” 

It - it makes sense. It makes sense in a way Techno maybe doesn’t want to admit, or didn’t want to hear before now. “I understand what you mean, Tommy,” he says. “But anarchy isn’t about everyone being on their own. You have community, you have groups of people who work together and protect each other. But you all have to agree on what you want.”

“L’Manburg is a democracy. That’s what's supposed to happen in a democracy, anyway.”

“Did you _agree_ to being exiled?” Techno asks gently, and Tommy grimaces. “Did you _agree_ to anything Schlatt did?”

After a pause, Tommy shakes his head. He turns his gaze towards the fire. 

Techno feels the impulse to push on, but for once, he stops himself. He pulls back. He’s understanding, now, what makes Tommy feel so deeply connected to the country. It’s not about the government, he thinks; it’s not about the power, or the name, or the nation. It’s about its history. It’s about the story. That’s a powerful connection to break. It’ll take time.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to agree with you,” Tommy says. “I just don’t. You know?” 

Techno sighs. “I know.”

“Reckon you’ll ever change your mind?” 

Techno snorts, and Tommy’s mouth twists as he looks into his lap. “Didn’t think so.” 

A cold wind howls against the house. 

“There’s more of Wilbur left than you think,” Techno feels himself saying. The words surprise him, and seem to shock Tommy. 

“What?”

Techno shrugs. “It’s not just L’Manburg Wilbur left behind,” he says. “He - ah, I don’t know.” 

Tommy’s face, almost wild with emotion. Is it fear? 

“There’s so much of him in you, Tommy,” Techno says, and shakes his head. “It’s - it’s scary, sometimes.” 

His breath hitches.

“He was always so proud of you, man - you have no idea. He’d never shut up about you. And he’d still be proud of you, now. He would.” 

Tommy rasps, “thank you, Techno,” and, strangely, Techno feels a slow sink of dread. Something has shifted between them. He's not sure he’ll be able to change it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sensed Wilbur angst in the air like a storm and came running?? 
> 
> I had this written before the smp season finale stream on Jan 20 and was so excited to hear some parallels to what I had written :) i hope you enjoyed the chapter!! comments make my day every time! <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://aenqa.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/aenqa1)


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